Bottle Of This, And Then He's Gone
by SoulEaterMarie
Summary: You are made of secrets, entirely and wholly, every broken, shattered bit of you is a secret, waiting to be lost in the depths of the universe.
1. Inigma

You're laying on his bed, and you feel like shit for it. You twist and turn, slouch, and then some. All the while, he sits calmly against your chest, his straw-like hair fallen against his face and your dull blue coated chest. He's calm, and silent, and has been for over an hour. Only softly and scarcely making comments about the Capitol.

But you stay, _hold_ him until he is content, or until he chases you out.

It's only for a while, you know that atleast. Only until Annie is saved, and brought back to the man beside of you. Only until his love, and the light in his eyes is brought back. Said light hasn't been glowing for awhile.

Until then, he has you.

He tells you that you remind him of Annie, with your flaming hair, and equally flaming personality. But you know that Annie is sweeter than you, the last time the two of you met she was, atleast. She reminds of sea glass, colorful, beautiful, out of something destructive. Broken bottles, smoothed into pebble-like shapes, with glimmering bodies, and copious amounts of beauty.

You don't know if she's changed, though she probably has. Seeing other players die around her has probably shot her sanity down the drain and into the sewers.

So you don't trust him when he says that you remind him of her.

You shuffle to the side silently as he twists an arm around your waist, and you sigh into his hair quietly. Not in disgust, or sadness, it is simply a sigh. A sigh that describes your emotions at the very moment, but yet leaves them to the most vast, dark portions of the universe, traveling until they are never found, or discovered again.

You are, simply, there.

Finnick, on the other hand, is broken. He was a sword when he entered his first games, thirteen years ago, sharp and strong. Now, he is a mere lance, thin, waiting to be snapped, looks that could kill but only a piece of steel to keep from destroying oneself. He is a lance, and you are simply there.

How quaint.

"It's twelve."

He informs you in his gruff, though brittle voice. A contradiction, though that is what Finnick Odair is. A contradiction, wrapped in mystery. A double-edged sword, though a brittle lance. Broken, but waiting to be shattered. Beautiful, but _deadly._

"I am well aware of the time." You grumble back, offering a slight squeeze to the chunks of muscle that is his arm.

"You should probabl-"

"I know what I should probably do, and that is go back to my quarters. Unfortunately, my comrade's life and soul has been wretched from him, and whisked away to the Capitol. And, for the time being, I fancy myself the dull glimmer in his pale eyes, and the wind through his straw hair. And, for that reason, I will stay with him through the night if I must, to calm his nerves and piece him together again." The words pour from your pale lips without a thought to stop them, though Finnick doesn't mind. He sits silently, before a soft chuckle escaped his thin lips, and he settled back against your chest.

"I'm not glass."

"You are." You murmur back to him when he tries to sit up, and you quickly shuffle a bit away, as if him seeing you would make what you are doing any more horrid. You catch the scent of sea and wind of his skin, and you are well aware that he misses home. You could care less about horrid District 4; Where you spent your days separating fish from octopi and crabs.

"I can't shatter."

"You can if I try." You remark back, hissing it under your breath, and he goes quiet. He knows your strengths, he knows that you are stronger than half the population. That you can throw a spear strait through the eye of a squid a quarter of a mile away, he knows that you can look someone and they will curse, hiss, or simply whimper in fear at your presence.

You are death, but you aren't, really.

You've never been in one of the Games. You blended in, slipping away at night to fish and curse and shatter bones. District 4 was your home, Hell. Then you would haul your sorry ass back to your house, fix yourself up long enough to last another day, then repeat. Your parents didn't care, they hated you; and much rather preferred your older sibling to you. You are a broken shard of glass, brittle and sharp.

"I can break you as well, but only for a small few." He murmurs back. He is well aware that your hobby is breaking yourself, and slowly piecing the shards of you back together. Though, each time, bits are left scattered throughout, leaving small, growing holes in yourself.

"A secret?" You question, chuckling. Secrets? That's all you are. Maybe that's why Finnick lays with you, waiting for the one he truly desires. He can get secrets from you, break you and build you back up again at his will, bend you and snap you, just to solder the pieces together as they shatter apart again. Your emotions, laying in the darkest depths of the universe, your sanity, lost in bits and pieces around you, your mind, falling apart, you are made of secrets and secrets alone.

"Of course. A small fee, I believe. I know how this somehow gets you off." He snorts.

"My wish is to be killed by you." You say it too quickly, you know that, because he goes quiet. Which he stays for an indefinite period of time, and you start losing track of it quickly.

"Your payment has been received."

just a li'l' somethin' I did in the middle of the night. Input is welcome and highly encouraged! 3

uwu


	2. Consume

You hunger for it.

You crave it, the bitterness on your tongue, the burning down your throat, and the blanks you drawl in it's haze. It's been weeks, or maybe even months, and you can't stand it.

Finnick calls you insane for wanting more of it, because it ate you from the insane out, and continues every second that you don't have more.

Haymitch is just as bad.

The shakes he gets, the throbs in his head, migraines, aches. He's hurt, and burning from the inside-out. He needs it, you need it, like you both need air.

So you make arrangements.

When Finnick asks you why you're heading to the infirmary, you snap a quick excuse of a headache and go on your way.

You weren't completely lying. Your head pounded, throbbing and shaking you to your core. You needed something to calm the damned thing down with, and fast.

You pass the right man on your way to said infirmary.

"Haymitch."

All it takes is a hiss between your teeth, and glint in your eyes, and he's trailing behind you like a lost mutt. A lost mutt with a crooked smile, greasy hair, and the largest beer gut you've ever seen.

Haymitch isn't much. Now, anyways. Whatever left of his broken soul and sanity has withered away, thanks to time and alcohol. You don't blame him, even without being in the games, you find yourself shuffling back into the infirmary, stealing bottles of medical alcohol, and taking off down to your dorms; the blonde, older male running along after you.

So you shuffled closer to the cabinets, snapping at one of the more nosy workers when she questions you.

"Do you /know/ who I am?"

The young female's pretty, big brown eyes widen, and she quickly goes back to work. A pity, really, one that young working in a hospital. She only looked about fourteen.

Your age when you began working in docks.

Drawling out three large, brown bottles of the medical grade, concentrated alcohol, you slip them into your satchel; before slipping out smoothly. They won't notice. They never do.

You could care less if they did.

What would they do, make you the Mockingjay?

You make your way through the winding halls, until you reach your dorm. It's too white here, you can smell it the few times you head out of your dorm, most of the time to Finnick's.

When you open in, the smell of sea fills your nostrils, and you hiss.

"Get the fuck out."

Finnick doesn't look phased, just grins from his position at your desk, and you grumble for the broken man behind you to shut the damn door.

When it closes, Haymitch, haggard and weary, falls against your bed; effectively covering the entire mattress with his broad chest, and muscular arms. You throw one of the bottles at his head, and frown when it hits his shoulder instead.

"You're going to get caught one day, and get in a lot of trouble-"

"I know, I'm hoping."

It's bitter on your lips, but you get through half a glass before you start to feel dizzy, fuzziness enveloping your brain, and covering you with sweet, sweet oblivion. You wish you could always feel this way, honestly. It's better than holding Finnick, or watching squids squirm as you rip them apart. It's beautiful, as colors burst around you, vivid and robust.

You're so buzzed, you can feel the sweet substance vibrating through your veins, flashing through your arteries, combusting into your heart.

It's warm, fuzzy, as you lean against the table; the bottle barely hanging off your fingertips. You don't feel guilty in the slightest; whoever was injured, needed this less than you.

Haymitch flashes a thankful smile, which you reflect. He stuffs the rest of the bottle into his jacket pocket, stands, and shuffles off to his own dorms, probably to sulk, or sleep. Both options sound equally charming to you, at the moment.

"You're going to drink your life away."

"That's the plan."

"You're so apathetic. It's pitiful, such a pretty face going to waste. You're going to turn out like Haymitch-unable to control yourself."

"Haymitch has helped me more than you ever have."

It doesn't hurt, or sting when you hiss it. Usually, the regret of such words would overwhelm you, especially when aimed at a person like Finnick. But now, you can just feel numbness, coursing through your veins, as making you almost vibrate.

"By giving you alcohol?"

"I've already had alcohol. I worked in a fish-yard my whole damned life. I went home with sailors, of course I've known alcohol. It's my longest, possibly only friend."

"What this all about, Dosi? Is it a cry for help-"

"Nothing is. Don't call me that, it isn't my name."

How stupid. Finnick believes you're hurting inside. Well, of course you are. You're burning, aching, your insides are coursing with flames and singing you slowly. It hurts, as you feel the water source, the end of your suffering is but a few feet away.

You know what it is.

He does too.

"Dosidicus, don't do this to yourself."

"Leave me to myself, and my friend." You pull the brown bottle closer, narrowing dull grey eyes at the male, who sighes, and stands.

When the door closes, and you're alone, you feel hot, wet tears drip down your face and neck, and you shake with not only rage, but sadness as well.


	3. Loathing

You aren't in love.

Love is a petty, vile thing, that courses through one's veins and reeks havoc amount their brain. It comes in the form of sneaked alcohol in District 13, glanced among corridors at midnight, Annie's gasps and moans between thin walls. You assure yourself, once again, that you aren't in love. You can't love, you can't be in love, love is destructive and-

You don't bother with a greeting when Finnick lets himself into your quarters; his presence, his scent of stale salt water and sandalwood try their hardest to make you look up; meet eyes with the one you hate so much. Instead, you press your face deeper into the pillow at the head of your small bed, grunting as he snickers.

"You look like'a turtle." He chuckles, and it infuriates you. Your cheeks heat, and a snarl rips from your pale throat like the glass that had cut through your shoulder weeks ago. Which was, ultimately, why you were in such a situation. Your sling, according to Haymitch, makes you a liability; resulting you staying in the goddamned bed you had been assigned. Asshole that he was, he acted as though you hadn't saved his life and sanity many a times.

So, you had stayed in the small, white room, Finnick being assigned to be your caretaker since nobody else gave a shit, and he had the balls to volunteer.

Annie was back. A smooth, beautiful pebble within a sea of jagged and worn rocks, all dusty with sin and dirt that seemed to cling to everything here. She was distant, although, you were too. But she was female, and you assume Finnick just doesn't favor your gender, males are the most fickle of creatures, after all. Your lips are dry and cracked and the times that he kisses them, you know he cringes when he pulls away. He'd much rather have the soft, supple body of a woman, than the scarred, muscular body of a man who doesn't know how to protect himself against the creatures that live inside of his mind. You assume so, at least.

"You need to get up, Dosi." He murmurs after a moment, shutting the door behind him before you feel his presence at your bed side, and shudder at it. You hate him, you've never hated anyone so much as you do him, and it burns to think of when he used to hold you so closely or kiss your lips or lie to you and say that you were going to be alright.

"I don't /need/ to do anything. Except die, which we all do, and which I'm hoping will happen sooner than later." Your voice is course, the days you had went without speaking to him taking their toll on your cords and making them sound like sandpaper rubbing against your already raw throat. Although, despite yourself, your muscles jump with a firm, large hand grasps your hips, and squeezes, and you believe that you enjoy such rough handling, or, that you would if your mind wasn't dulled with the weight of the world.

"Now, c'mon, up you go."

Suddenly, you are sitting up, his other had at the base of your spine to help your sit correctly, and one hanging against your thigh. You don't look at him directly, your eyes are narrowed at the fact that he turned the lights on and bright, white light is streaming into your once-darkened room.

"What do you want?" You grunt back, pulling away from his hand at your spine, snarl on your lips already forming. You hate him, you assure yourself, you hate him and love is a vile, petty thing-

"I'm going to the capital."

The capital? The capital that is waging a war on the rebellion? The capital that whored the poor man in front of you out until he was a crumpled mess and you had to hold him for hours beside of the ocean while he sobbed? Your fingertips grasp at his wrist, holding him there while you glare at him almost savagely.

".. No you aren't. If you go, I'm going as well." Despite your anger, these words tumble from your chapped lips, your anger does not show through your calm words.

"You know you have to stay here, Dosi. You're too weak for something like this-"

"Something like this? You mean a suicidal mission into the Capital, of course? You are not stronger than me, Finnick Oddair, /you/ are the one pays in secrets instead of money because money makes you anxious, and reminds you of Snow. You are the one who married Annie and gave into whatever creature 'love' is-" You snarl acidly, your breath is hitching and your vision starts to blur as adrenaline seeps into your system, you gasp to catch your breath and he speaks before you can.

"No, no, Dosi, I /am/ stronger than you and you know so. You don't have to act like this around me, you know that.." His voice drops to something kind. "I, of all people, know that you couldn't handle something like the Capital, you're too fragile."

"Fragile-?"

He leans down and you are furious as he presses his soft lips against your forehead, and leans back as your eyes start to burn and you pull against his hand on your thigh. He can't leave you here alone, he just /can't/.

"You can't leave me here-!" You cry, before he leans down once more, intwining his fingers within your tangled mess of hair, pushing his lip gently against yours, his eyes flitting closed and you stare at him, and full moment he stay there, silencing your cries with his lips.

When he pulls away, he offers a grin, and brushes hair from your face.

"I'll come back for you, Dosi." He assures you, but your eyes are already glossing over with the tears that streak your cheeks and burn their way down.

"-and Annie?"

"I love you, Dosi. Don't forget that while I'm gone."

He ignores your question when he closes the door, leaving you to your own devices and you can't help but scream. It bounces around the room and hurts your eardrums, but you don't care, you never do.

You aren't in love, you assure yourself. Love is a petty, vile thing, that courses through one's veins and reeks havoc amount their brain. It comes in the form of stolen kisses and cracked lips, the smell of sandalwood, and the feeling of hopelessness in the bottom of your gut.

You aren't in love, love is a vile thing, you can't fall into something you've fell into long ago.


End file.
